The start of innocent Growth
by shifura
Summary: People grow. Children learn. Seems simple enough when you're human, but when you're a multi-talented 7 ft flea? A discovery of new feelings and the blossoming of love.
1. Chapter 1

It started innocently.

Francoeur was very new to this way of life, and as such knew nothing of what was expected or acceptable, but he felt like he was making progress. He knew he was improving.

Sometimes it just got _difficult_, like when walking down the street with Lucille on his arm, oh how hard he had to fight the urge to crouch down to a more comfortable position, or climb a lamppost because that light behind the stained glass was simply _fascinating._

And sometimes it was just plain odd, the people of Paris were as different from each other as they were the same, and the things they did and said. They were confusing, contradicting in their ways, and the way they spoke was perfectly understandable French, and it was just the things they said that were such a puzzle to him.

He never did get the answer from Lucille when he asked why the woman from the chicken stand gave him some sort of odd eye-blinking, and what she meant by "You can come by later to fertilize _my_ eggs, hun." it was never explained, she didn't even answer, Lucille had just turned tail and dragged him down the street, the oddest thing was that her face changed color.

Which he found pretty, and fascinating.

Talking about Lucille, she was strange too.

Of course, she was beautiful, and because she was so beautiful, she always drew his attention.

Whether it be by simply talking; the way she would use her hands, or the quirky movement of her mouth. She'd talk and laugh; he especially liked her laugh, the noise was airy and so different from screaming, it was a happy sound.

Or she could be doing nothing, and he would stare at her and stare and stare until his eyes felt dull and dry so he had to blink and _then_ get back to staring. She sometimes caught him, and he would drop his gaze and twiddle with the guitar strings, she would coo with amusement. It was a bit like hearing a white dove, _croo-ooo-crooo-crooon."Oh,_ _Francoeur."_

She acted strange sometimes.

They had passed a couple on their way to The Rare Bird, and while the woman had stood quietly in the man's arms, he stroked her face like _this,_ the woman had laughed, a rosy patch appearing in her face. He later had asked Lucille, barely a minute before the curtain rose, what it meant, and when she didn't understand what he was asking, he'd shown her.

Stepping closer, he'd reached out with his hand, bringing his face closer as well to hear her answer; the sounds of the audience could drown out any noise. And he'd stroked her cheek gently, like that man had, "…like _this."_ Lucille hadn't answered that question either, could it have been because she didn't know? She had gasped very softly, about to speak to him, but the curtain had swept aside, and she was forced to step a little ways to the side, once again they had been caught in a moment.

After the performances; they would go _home._

Because he had no home; Lucille had offered him hers, because he never had a bed; Lucille opted to share hers. Within reason that he would keep to his side of the bed and that he kept his hands to himself. "All _four_ of them."

It started on one of these nights, Lucille had bought him 'nightclothes', which were just as interesting as his white suit, but this one had stripes, and Lucille had to fight him for it because he wanted to trace every little blue line, because he didn't know that some things came in _stripes_.

After losing the fight for the stripy night shirt, Francoeur had sat down and let Lucille button it up, he didn't really like having to put two of his four arms into the sleeves, he had to do it every night for Lucille when they had to sing together. But she had said it was cold, and was going to rain.

Francoeur _disliked_ rain.

A lot.

He couldn't _not_ hate rain, he was, and had been, a flea.

Fleas, as a rule, avoided water. Of course, one measly drop couldn't _kill_ him now that he was taller, but that didn't mean he liked it.

Bath time had been an experience too, but that was for another time.

So, it had started on one such night, nothing weird of different had happened the day before, other than that Lucille gave him some sweet dark thing called, 'chocolat', something she had liked since childhood, and would only eat it now if she felt like she deserved it. He'd watch – fascinated- as she broke it in half, gave him a piece and showed him how to eat it, she would close her eyes and a little patch of pink would suddenly appear on her cheeks. The same patch of color rose to an even brighter tint when he'd forgotten about his piece, and had to lick the sweet dark tasting from his fingers before it dripped on his trouser leg.

The taste had lasted for the whole day, and sometimes he would lick him lips and still taste it; Lucille often gave him a look whenever he did this, maybe because every time he did he couldn't keep that slow smile from forming. It was such a delight!

Here he was, awake and in a sour mood because _it was raining _and the sound was stopping him from sleeping. Lucille was sleeping, so he didn't want to wake her for something to do, she liked to sleep. She said she had dreams, wonderful and colorful things that humans have from the day they're born till their death, and never the same dream. It could be anything, and in a dream, _you_ could be anyone, you could fly, you could discover fascinating new species as an explorer, you could do _anything._

But you could also have nightmares.

Francoeur might not have known how a dream looked, but he knew what a nightmare was. People had called him a 'nightmare' right alongside 'monster'. It wasn't a very pleasant thing, a nightmare.

And Lucille seemed to be having one right then and there.

She twisted and turned, causing the sheets to tangled and bunch around her legs which were tensing and curling around her body. She ached her back and a sound escaped her mouth. It was a little sound, a human wouldn't have heard it, even without the rain, but Francoeur could.

It was the sound of pain.

Breaking Lucille's first bed-sharing rule: stick to your side of the bed, Francoeur carefully moved aside the wall of pillows between them; Lucille had told him that he kicked in his sleep.

Well, if he dreamed, it would be of jumping, there was no feeling greater than jumping as high as you could.

Then, just as gently, he stroked a hand over Lucille's shoulder, shaking it as he whispered; "Lucille?"

When she didn't wake immediately, he placed his second right hand over her ribs, he shook her a little more, "Lucille, are you hurt?" There was still nothing, she was still sleeping, and still making little sounds of pain.

Becoming worried Francoeur lowered his hands to that they pressed against her back, one below the other, he rubbed hoping that if shaking didn't woke her, the pressure of his hands maybe could. Hissing just as quietly.

"Lucil-"-she gasped.

Startled Francoeur tore his hands from her, and surely she made another noise, it sounded sad and just as painful.

Placing his hands on her back, he pressed, just a little. She gasped again, but this time it was quieter and less painful sounding.

Pressing harder, he felt her curving her back to his hands, retreating them, she followed till she had scooted at least a foot closer.

He set his hands on her lower back and, pressing hard, he pushed her all the way till she was but an inch away from the edge of the bed, she countered by scooting back, trying to get back into the bed and at the same time pressing her back against his hands.

Francoeur smiled. This was a _game._

He spend a long time just pressing his hands against her back, retreating them, and then laughing quietly whenever she followed them without conscious thought.

Then it came to the point where he didn't need to reach out; Lucille had scooted much farther and was now pretty much lying against his side, her back trapping his hands between them.

Smiling a little sillier, Francoeur took a deep breath that ended in a jaw-cracking yawn. The rain hadn't stopped, but was very softly patting the window, like it tried to be very quiet for his sake.

Untangling the sheets a little, he covered Lucille so that she'd be warm, and then turned his back to her, curling into a ball so that he could sleep, it was his favorite position. It felt safe.

Sighing deeply Francoeur felt his eyes droop, barely aware that Lucille was tight against his back, softly twisting but no longer making sounds of pain. She was sighing too, and here and there he could make out a little "Aahh" noise, although he had no word for it.

That night he dreamt of dancing.

It was a strange dance, not much footwork was involved, and he didn't need to wear his human disguise, and neither was Lucille while she was embracing him, they swayed in an odd manner, they weren't moving too much either, but it felt like it was a dance.

A good dance.


	2. Chapter 2

Francoeur woke to a terrified shout.

Instinctively he dove for cover, trying to hide his bulk behind the translucent curtains. Not his _best _choice for cover.

When no more sound came, no footsteps or shouted 'Monstre!' Francoeur peeked from his hiding place, scanning the room for people or fainted bodies. None, as far as he could see.

"Lucille? Are you hurt, what happened?" There was a low noise, almost like the 'humming' Lucille did, but it sounded rawer and full of distaste.

"I'm fine…Oh, Mon dieu!" Carefully Francoeur set about finding out where she was, peeking out into the hallway, ready to hide if that woman Lucille had called 'Aunt' was near. 'Aunt' had a way of interrupting them when Lucille was teaching him something new.

He found that her voice was coming from behind the locked door of the bathroom, he'd had some very disturbing memories of that first night, and of course the rubber duck wasn't spared in the fight. But that was for another time.

He remembered some lesson's with meeting a locked door, his very first had been the 'doorbell', for people to know that someone outside wanted _in,_ Lucille had staged such an event; even when she had opened the door and invited him inside he was still pulling the little cord with the funny handle; it was so _fascinating_ the way it sounded like a twinkle when he did so, and had continued to pull it till Lucille had forcefully taken it from his hands.

Another way was 'knocking'. This was hitting your hand against the wood of the door, usually while making a fist. Francoeur found it odd, besides. Tapping his fingers in a simple rhythm sounded much more pleasant that 'knock-knock-knock'.

So by tapping his fingers rapidly against the wood he waited for Lucille to say something.

"Lucille, are you alright?"

Nothing.

Doing it again, he set his head to the wood, right behind his jaw; there was a little hole that he used to hear things with. Humans called them 'ears'. And by placing his ear to the wood, he heard the slightly dulled sound of water splashing and the mumbling Lucille was doing. And then he smelt it.

With a frightened chirp he flung himself away from the door, slamming against the opposite wall so hard it rocked the potted plant standing there innocently sideways, causing it to spill earth across the wooden floor.

Eyes wide and slightly hotter, Francoeur pressed his hands against his face, willing away the all too familiar feeling that now curled around his stomach.

He'd smelt blood. True the smell was a little faint, but he knew that scent, he'd lived in a world where all that matter was that scent, back when he was so small and so content and so simple.

_He_ fed on it.

He didn't deny the fact that once he had grown, the hunger became so much more pronounced, so much stronger, it was like a flame to his throat and a craved hollow in his stomach, it was the first thing that made sense that very night he became what he was now.

He was _hungry._

He couldn't remember the late time he had fed.

Lucille was harmed, or _would_ be harmed lest he stayed here a minute longer.

He needed to leave, he needed to get out, he needed to _breathe._

With that firmly in mind, Francoeur didn't bother changing anything about his appearance, he marched right to the window, one pair of hands still tight against his nose, the other pair all but tore the window open.

He didn't glance back, didn't consider, didn't _think._

He needed to leave.

He left.


	3. Chapter 3

Francoeur had been missing for over eight days.

Eight long days she'd been worried, grief-stricken, angry, and heartbroken. She told the people at The Rare Bird that her partner had taken sick leave, and wouldn't be able to perform with her that night. She told them this for _eight days _and_ nine nights._

Lucille couldn't remember what had happened, nothing upsetting, nothing unusual despite the fact that more and more women in town couldn't keep their eyes off of him, and even when they'd walked past they'd watch his _other side_ before they couldn't see crowd from Francoeur.

There was _nothing she had done!_ Nothing she'd said could've upset him, she had heard him that morning, nine nights ago, asking her what was wrong, besides the obvious red stain on her nightie there hadn't been anything _wrong!_

That morning, all had been normal, maybe not that normal because somewhere in the night she much have felt cold or lonely and had snuggled up to Francoeur. With her legs all over him and clinging to his neck like some scared child.

She'd woken up to an all too familiar ache in her stomach and back, and untangling herself from Francoeur's warmth had taken up 5 minutes; he had been clinging right back.

In the bathroom she tried to scrub away the worst of the damage done to her nightie, it was one of her more favorable ones to wear because they didn't ride up till under her armpits while she slept. And that was a gift given if you're sharing a bed with an insect _man._

He'd knocked, he's spoke, he left.

And she knew it had been because of her, she knew this was her fault.

And for the past eight days, after the shows she dragged herself back to her house, unlock the door whilst pointedly ignoring the doorbell, barely eaten a handful of grapes with bread, and made way to her bedroom, only to encounter the room as vacant as the night before.

Collapsing into the chair beside the window, Lucille leaned against the windowsill, the doors to the small balcony had been nearly ripped from their hinges when she reached the bedroom after Francoeur's sudden disappearing act, the doors were still open.

She left it open every day and every night, even when it rained, she left it open in case he would return. She felt like Mrs. Darling waiting for her children to return, going as far as to light a candle.

Today's paper lay in her lap, the many rips and folds were evident to her absolute abuse; for days she'd read the headline, side views and articles about everyday things in Paris, even death annunciations; _nothing_.

And not only newspapers were the only victims of her search, no ally in the whole of Paris had felt this important since they had been created; Lucille looked through every dark alley she passed, sometimes she even walked down the slightly shabbier part of Paris just so that she could search their walkways and alley's.

It was hopeless, before she had even met him; the news of 'a Monstre in Paris' was on every headline of every newspaper.

Of course each New prophet tried to one-up the other; from the most logical to the most fictional speculations of the infamous monster. 'Monstre of Paris cause of Poultry Thievery' – 'Young couple Attacked by hideous Creature with Red Eyes', ' Witness claims "The monster stole my horse right from underneath me, while I was riding it!" 'And more and more and _more._

Now, there was nothing, and because she knew that he was out there, maybe not ignorant of the humans or what they thought of him, but still out there and alive and _real, _it seemed like a wonderful dream, And because she knew that while he existed she was safe, while he hid beneath trees and lived like an outcast, she lived comfortable and dry and safe and loved, it made her heart ache even more.

Francoeur had suddenly appeared, made her life bright and new and wonderful, and disappeared in the same manner from her life, leaving only an echo of his brilliant light. She missed him, she worried about him.

She loved him.

Sagging forward until she rested her head and arms on the window sill, Lucille closed her eyes and wept right along with the rain.

On the morn of day nine, something changed.

Lucille had somehow gotten into bed, wither it had been exhaustion or the cold, she found herself on her back under the sheets, her dress rumpled from sleeping in it.

Looking to the window, she noted it was barely dawn, the light was dim but getting stronger, but the window was like it had been for the last couple of days. Open a crack, unlocked, with no signs of entering.

Lucille rolled over, what was the point? Francoeur wasn't coming back; there was no singing tonight or any other night with him. Today she would just lie in the bed and feel sorry for herself.

She would wallow in whatever women wallowed in when their slightly-more-bug-than-man-partner/friend/object of love -ran-of-because-of-cause-'unknown'.

You know, that sort of thing.

Closing her eyes, Lucille let herself drift back into her dreams, remembering the soft singing Francoeur had used to literally lure her to him, his brighter than gold eyes, so deep and filled with wonder she was often reminded of a child going to a new and fascinating place. And his face, she'd always wanted to remember how happy he looked, the sly curve of his lips, the most adorable dimples when he grinned. That little gap between his front teeth would always sent her heart melting and her knees wobbling.

And his hands, always so gentle and curious.

One time, when Lucille was trying to braid her hair into a fancy bun; Francoeur had entered the room, so quietly she almost jumped from her chair when his hands plucked the comb from her hand, and by trailing his fingers through her hair undid the complex 'do. She wasn't even angry, all her hard work undone! No, she kept silent as he worked from the top of her head till the very tips at her waist, fascinated by the texture.

She remembered blushing from the soft sighs escaping her lips; this was a safe feeling. Back when she was younger, her aunt would always braid her hair for her, she loved the feel of someone else combing her hair. But that was a long time ago. And with Francoeur 'combing' her hair, she felt so peaceful, so loved. The hands of her friend who cared for her so lovingly, she wanted those hands to belong to someone more, she wanted them to become the hands of her lover.

She wanted Francoeur to become her lover.

Thinking hard; she could almost _feel_ them, gently, soothing. Those four hands with their dexterous fingers. It felt so real a few tears escaped from under her eyelids. Funny, she thought she'd run out dry by now.

Lucille kept dreaming, happily of those times.

Until a little smug part of her mind said _'There IS someone stroking our hair.'_

And she answered right back as if it were the most normal thing in the world; _don't be silly, this is a dream. I'm not going to open my eyes and see nothing there._

Stupid smug part, thinking it could say what she had to do.

_You might not agree with me here, but there is someone, you can feel it; it's not your imagination._ Lucille huffed indignantly, why she should believe some separate part of her that's saying there's someone in her room, stroking her hair _exactly_ how Francoeur did.

_If you don't believe my word, or agree with me, why not prove your point by OPENING your eyes? _

Fine, she would open her eyes, and prove to herself that this was just a silly dream. _ I'll prove YOU wrong_.

Lucille opened her eyes. _ There, see that there is no-one here-?_

Lucille blinked, not believing what her eyes were telling her. She closed her eyes and opened them again, blinking.

Francoeur blinked right back.

_'Told you so'-_


	4. Chapter 4

Slowly, Lucille shifted into a sitting position, reaching back to adjust the pillow against the headboard. Francoeur didn't move.

She daren't blink, she dare not breathe, she dared not to take her eyes of him for a moment and find out that this was all just some cruel, twisted joke.

She wouldn't be laughing if it was.

Opening her mouth; Lucille paused the same moment. What was there to say? _'Where for pity's sake have you been?'_ _'Have you any idea how worried I was?'- Or 'Don't you DARE run of like that EVER AGAIN!' seemed_ like a few good options, but she didn't want to scare Francoeur.

Scratch that, she didn't want to scare the 'Francoeur' _figment._ A figment of her imagination, surely.

The figment was watching her with an intensity of a dingo watching a human baby…maybe not hungry, but all the same, it was very. _Very intense._

It was pretty unnerving. The figment was looking up at her with the most pleading expression; even kicked, soaking wet puppies couldn't top it.

Slow, as not to try and wake from this dream, Lucille reached out a hand and placed it on the figments shoulder nearest to her. It was warm; she could feel the hard armor with those thick spike-like hairs through the raggedy shirt.

The figment crept closer so sudden she must have looked absolutely scared: because he stopped just as sudden, just staring at her with the guiltiest look in its great big orange eyes.

Lucille backtracked; _orange?_ The Francoeur she knew didn't have orange eyes; they were golden, great big pools of molten butterscotch, not some bled-out version of _reddish orange._

The eyes blinked, proving her point. They were an exceedingly in-human color, and frightened her more than she felt.

"Lucille?"

Her mouth dropped open at the name; somewhere in her head something just _clicked_ and suddenly she was herself, she was in her bed, as was Francoeur, who had gone missing for _nine days!_

Furious, Lucille raised her voice at the same time as her hands. ".?" Each word was punctuated by a smack to his shoulder; they fell weak handed and without serious harm, but it were her words that made him winch.

"I've been so WORRIED! I thought you'd DIED! What were you THINKING!You incompetent-" Lucille flew at him, intend to scratch; luckily Francoeur was already wound so tight he could see it coming, with the quickness he was known for he firmly grabbed her hands, holding them apart and immobilized.

"Lucille, please understand, I did it because-I-I-I"- "imbécile! Imbécile! Vous disparaissez pendant neuf jours et vous pensez que vous pouvez juste ramper comme ça? Je pourrais étrangler vous, vous, vous, le cochon!"-""- LUCILLE STOP!"

Shocked, Lucille did.

It was more because of his face, the happy, innocent face she knew had an expression of serious sorrow, some dark humor, and for the first time Lucille saw the Monstre. There was pain _ carved_ into the once smooth lines of his face, the dark color of his eyes made him look like he could murder.

Francoeur's moment of dominance lasted exactly 7 seconds, and as the serious expression melted into one of utter fear and guilt, he released her hands and hung his head, looking the whole part like a man about to be decapitated, and nothing would stop it from happening.

"I'm sorry for leaving…I-I-can't…couldn't-…you see that-…"The words were barely formed into a sentence and he would change them, searching for a way to explain it to her. He didn't know how to start.

"Please understand that I left with only the best for you in mind, Lucille, I _had_ to leave, I can't even image what would have-" A look of horror washed over his face, and it made Lucille think that it might have been for the best, too.

Pffft as _If!_

"What happened, Francoeur-"He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped at her upraised hand. "- And be honest with me, you scared me. I thought you left because of me-"-"Non!" Francoeur shouted, hands outreached as if to stop her from saying the words.

Lucille couldn't stop herself from recoiling away from his hands, the fear that had latched on to her was strong, she was still frightened of him and with those _eyes_…"Nononono it's not because of you…well part of it, but I…Lucille I-…" Lowering his hands, he dropped his face into them, feeling like he was trying his hardest and yet he _couldn't!_

It frustrated him how he felt; Lucille was like a friend to him, she saw him in the alley and for the first time in his existence she was the one to show him kindness. it made him depend on her in a way he couldn't do without.

Whenever she smiled, he smiled. When she sung so beautifully for the people in The Rare bird, there was this glow to her, like nothing could pull her down, not the angel of Montmartre, and every time he tried to sing her to his side, to _him,_ he succeeded, only because she allowed it. When she held his hand, something in his chest would clench and grow hot. But Francoeur didn't understand the concept of love, he never heard of it, it was something he hadn't seen or smelled of tasted, yet he had it. And didn't even know it.

Lucille watched with a fury that was shimmering down to disappear like nothing, leaving only fear and longing.

Seeing him so distraught made her realize how much she missed him, and how much _he_ had missed _her_.

"Oh Francoeur…" Biting her lip against the names she wanted to call him, she leaned forward to embrace him. Only to stop when he leaned back, out of her reach with this stupid, worrying look on his face. There was a pinched look on his face, like something wasn't right, like something about _her_ wasn't right. When he looked her straight in the eyes; there was a unmistakable thing in them; the trust in those eyes had gone and be replaced with betrayal.

Tears spilled over before she could stop them, Lucille openly cried at the rejection.

~~~~~~`doyouguyshatemeyet?~~~~


	5. Chapter 5

Francoeur remembered something, he'd realized while holding his head in his hands, something he'd known but had forgotten in the excitement of being close to Lucille again…

That night, after running away, he'd fed on the very next stray cat that crossed his path. In order to be absolutely sure he wasn't tempted by the scent of blood near Lucille; he drained four.

The hot liquid had been welcome after such a long time without, and suddenly he felt aware, his sight was clearer, he felt the very air around him vibrate. His limbs felt warm and strong, like he'd been too numb to realize how _cold_ he felt.

How come he lasted this long without his first natural life source? How come it felt like he could jump so high and so far, like he could lift those stinking metal things, the ones that went _'__**Hooon-krooonk!**_ And _**Be-laaargh-baaa!**_

He felt alive!

Throwing down the carcass of his fifth stray; he gave a happy sound that was part-way chirp and part-way laugh, his legs were trembling with suppressed power, releasing his restraint he began jumping all over the buildings, mindful of the pre-dawn risers and humans milling about.

He felt so good, he felt so driven; he wanted to go back to Lucille and _dance! Dance! Dance!_ With her! What did humans do when they felt so alive? He didn't know, for all he knew, they were like he. Maybe they would jump?

Maybe their food source would give them this strength as well; Lucille might not even have harmed herself! Maybe she was just feeding, and had spilled some on those nightclothes she favored, and after consuming blood, not only would she be fed, maybe she would feel this alive _with _him!

Leap after leap Francoeur crittered happily, not a worry on his mind, he would return! He would talk to his Lucille, he would dance with her, and he would hold her and spin her in endless circles round the room until the dizziness would make him collapse.

Somewhere in his mind, now capable of sentient thought, a very primal instinct colored the happy thoughts surrounding Lucille, turned them around in a way that was both natural to his species and his gender; _Lucille is very young, and very wanted, she hasn't shown an interest in others…and if she has just fed on blood; our most nurturing source, she would be very fertile-_

Mid-jump to the next building, Francoeur stopped. And then he tumbled. And hit buildings as he did.

The fall wasn't scary, jumping was never _scary_, but landing on the wrong side of his foot was. Landing like that _hurt._

Hissing, Francoeur eased his leg from under him, it was uninjured, but had taken all the blunt of the fall, and it would be a little tender for the following day.

Carefully placing his foot on the ground in a position that wouldn't hurt it more than it already was, he took to thinking back, and safely on the ground there would be no chance of him leaping headfirst into a building or missing a rooftop and falling down again.

Hugging his knees to his chest, Francoeur thought. Then thought some more, relaying all the information he had been born with, all that he had known and did before his life had been shattered apart by that strange explosion, and his new mind could put the actions into a logical explanation. It was his natural instinct; Francoeur had known it and acted upon said instinct for as long as he had existed. Francoeur thought and thought about it in as many ways as he could, and then stopped thinking because it hurt his chest and head.

It was all a little too much for him; the sudden realization had been long overdue. But it was the _right_ one.

How many times had he sat beside Lucille and reveled in the warmth she both was and called up in him, the many times he had looked at a couple walking past them, their arms intertwine and exchanging loving touches, and the times he wished to know why he wanted to do that with Lucille.

If Lucille was…like him, then…she would be…and then…maybe later…

A very odd sensation crept up his face, touching it with a hand he felt the leathery skin of his cheek burning at the thought of him and Lucille –and here the feeling grew hotter – _doing, __**that.**_ With the hotness, came the joy.

But then he glanced down, a little pool of dirtied water from that night's rainfall had gathered into a small puddle on the cobblestone ground. In it, he saw his reflection.

And then suddenly, something wet was falling out of his eyes, and he didn't know why it hurt his chest, or why he felt so cold, or why it felt like he lost Lucille in a way, just because she wouldn't want to be with him, _that_ way.

Because _he_ wasn't _human_.

That first night: Francoeur cried.

And as the days passed, he watched Lucille, day in day out, she would leave her home, looking tired, and return looking worse than that morning, and the day after that, even worse.

Once he'd peeked through a crack between the shuttered windows into The Rare Bird, listening to Lucille sing with a feeling of longing so powerful he had bitten right through his lip in effort to stop himself from crying out to her. He had nearly dislocated two of his shoulders by holding himself fast onto the railing, afraid that he would want to break through the glass and not only scare the few dozen humans there, but take Lucille against her will with him.

At the end of her performance, she was approached by that man, Raloo or something, he would leave. He would leave with the knowledge that Lucille didn't feel for him enough to look for him, because she found someone else. It was childish of him too think so, ironically enough he had no understanding of said concept.

But he came back, after a few days, he might be ignorant, he might be curious and new to this world…but he was alone.

And Lucille was…his friend.

And she would always be, never mind that she didn't-

_Never_ mind.

Don't mind, won't mind. Shan't mind.

He didn't _want_ to mind!

And still he did, still he came back, and when he saw her through the balcony windows – which were still open?- on the ninth or eighth night, she was asleep on a chair that was in no way fit for sleeping in, he remembered how much he cared for his friend.

He crept in silently, barely even touching the wide open windows. Towering over her small form Francoeur wondered that maybe, if he gave her time, they could-

_**No.**_

He was a friend, she was his _friend._

And as friends, he would give her the care she needed. And now she needed to be warm and resting.

Gently picking her up, - she was so small and soft and light! - Francoeur carried her to the bed, that accursed bed, where he'd slept safely with her, played that midnight game of push-and-scoot, the place he'd once were too afraid to lay down on, because of some horrid thunder-storm which made his fear of the water arise to the surface a million fold. The sound of thunder and the flash of lighting were new things to him; it sounded like the sky was falling too pieces and that the world was at its end. She'd held him and sung to him until he had calmed down, pried the sheets from his cramped fingers and held them in her own soft hands.

It felt like a hundred years ago.

Placing the sheets over her, he made to move away, certain that she would be safe. Knowing that in the morning she would wake up and go about her day; she wouldn't miss him. 'I might_ need her, but she doesn't…'_ Maybe if he repeated it a thousand times more, if he could keep on fooling himself, maybe he could move away from Paris, wander the country, maybe he would become numb enough to believe his own lie and pretend it was true.

Reaching down to gently ease a lock of gingery brown hair away from her face, Francoeur turned to leave.

Only to stop when a hand caught one of his.

How had he forgotten how warm she was? Trying not to wake her, Francoeur tried to pry her fingers from around his own, but he couldn't, not even with his inhuman strength, _he_ couldn't let go.

Francoeur collapsed down to his knees with a sob, defeated in his struggle to remain in the _friends_, and not to want _more._ But what more could Lucille give him? She was his caretaker, that fact alone had been certain the very day she named him, and she would be his friend. The aching in his chest gave three angry _thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud_. He would stay her friend.

No matter how much it killed him.

With this new resolve firmly in mind, Francoeur was startled from his mindscape because Lucille was leaning towards him, _pity_ on her face.

With a frown he leaned back, maybe she had gotten ahead of him and found out his feelings for her; and because she did not feel like that, she pitied the creature that adored her.

Francoeur didn't know that when people communicated, they did it mostly by eye contact. So it was of no surprise he wasn't aware of the fact that his eyes told her; "_I needn't your pity, I know my place under you, human. I am not a fool._"

'

Lucille was crying, and Francoeur was panicking.

Panicking because he wanted to explain to her _why_ he left, _why_ he came back, _why_ he felt like he was a thousand miles apart from her, and she was crying.

It tore at the pain already aching in his chest, even if she cared for another, even if she would turn from him with scorn, even if she screamed at him to never set foot near her again, he would always want to be with her and be her _friend._ He wouldn't ask for more, because he knew she couldn't give it.

"No, no, no Lucille, d-don't.-" _'Don't' what? Don't hate me? Don't think that even though I want to be with you, I can't and won't?_' How could he possibly make this any worse than it already was?

"L-Lucille, I want you to know…t-the, um, reason-the reason I left…some things, some things I do-I-I- what I am and that night I-I-smelt…there was bl-bl-blood a-and-and I, panicked, and I didn't mean to-"

Through her tear-streaked lashes Lucille still looked confused and heartbroken, she was clinging to her own doubt, like she didn't understand him, or _wouldn't._

"What do you _mean?_´ "She sobbed miserably, why he couldn't just tell her!

"Wha-what I mean? Mean, I mean to say…to say, Th-that…That night! You were…harmed, I think, and I'm a, a, well, what I _want_ was…Um, needed…food, um, my head it got, all-all, err…What I mean to say is…is…is-"

Subtly wouldn't work, and it was too complicated to explain in greater detail about his species while she sat before him crying, seeing her like that weakened him more than being food-deprived.

Francoeur went against greater and more ancient male instinct by grabbing Lucille's shoulders and chin, making her look him in the face while the words rushed and stumbled:

"!"

The crying stopped so abruptly Francoeur felt like he'd suddenly turned deaf; all he could sense was Lucille's body getting shocks from the sobbing, and her face, which besides being red and wet with tears, looking confused. In a smaller voice he continued.

-"B-But then I remembered that when females feed they turn, um, Aahh, turn , turn f-f-fertile and I thought, t-that you had and-and-and…"

Gulping down a surprisingly large _something_ in his throat Francoeur may have swallowed a bit of his sanity by adding, in a softer voice still: "…I would understand that you…would _want_ to be with _another_…because I'm not, not _human_…I just wish that I was…b-because I-I…, Lucille, you mean so much-And you've helped me so many times- Stay friends, b-but I w-wanted to tell, but I was a-afraid that y–you…"

He stopped there; the words were stuttering out his mouth like he was being rattled by some earthquake, it sounded ridiculous even to his ears. How can he explain the way he felt about her when he didn't even know the _words_!

The lack of reaction from Lucille was actually getting on his nerves; which was strange because a few weeks previously he hadn't been aware he had a thing like _nerves_. But now it actually annoyed him that Lucille wasn't responding, in any way at all.

Opening his eyes – why had he closed them? – Francoeur saw Lucille; mouth agape with shock, eyes wide and unblinking.

She was so still he wasn't sure she was breathing.

Taking a deep breath Francoeur calmed down to give her time to process his explanation, dropping his hands from her he fiddled with a loose thread on his trousers; he still wore the nightclothes Lucille had given him.

The ones with the blue stripes.

Perhaps these were, aside from the white suit with hat and scarf, his favorite articles of clothing. The trousers were made of nice, threadbare cotton and loose around his legs, allowing for him to move around without a hitch. The shirt wasn't too nice; it hindered him that he had to wear it with two of his arms into the sleeves, restricting them.

But that could be easily fixed by rolling them up till over his elbows, or by ripping them off at the shoulder. Which he had been reluctant to do, they were his favorite stripy cloths; he wasn't going to damage them. But they were dirty from being worn for many days, the rain and filth on the streets of Paris had turned it a soggy grey, he could barely make out the strips on his trouser pants; they were so dirtied.

Would Lucille be kind enough to gift him clean ones? He would sleep on that couch she had, if he moved it in front of the mantelpiece it could be nice and warm. He'd have to curl up more, it being so much smaller than the bed…But it wouldn't be any trouble. Just as long as she still wanted to be his friend.

Then again, what did it mean when you thought about one person and one person only? What did it say about you? Would you be seen as a nuance; constantly wanting to be the centre of her attention, simply because feeling her gaze made him feel warmer? Or would it been seen as, affection? Deep, unconditional affection, giving freely because you adored that person to much to care of what you may receive in return?

There was another word. Another word, he'd known he had read it somewhere, perhaps in a book or a piece in the Newspaper.

Closing his eyes Francoeur dwells through the thoughts of Lucille, the heat in his chest growing warmer the longer he feels; somewhere deep there is a word. The word is important to what he feels with Lucille, it's in every creature. It's in the hand of an artist, the touch of a man to a woman's cheek; it flies through songs and laments of humans. There word is close, he knows it, and yet knows nothing of it.

But he's so close, he can almost see it, see it spelled across the Seine in bold golden letters, and feel it rushing through his veins at the thought of Lucille.

Almost. Almost. It lies on the very tip of his tongue-"Francoeur…" At the name, he _jumps._ _**THUMP! **_Goes the ceiling at the impact.__

There is a shocked gasp from Lucille, and a pained one from Francoeur.

He landed roughly on the bed; the crash of his weight catapults Lucille a good five foot into the air, only to land with a startled laugh.

Rubbing all four of his hands over his noggin, Francoeur might have cursed the ceiling for existing. Stupid ceiling, crashing down to meet him as he leaped up.

"Oow-owwwowhhooohowwoo" He whimpered weakly, rubbing at the thick leathery skin of his skull, willing the pain away.

"Oh Francoeur!" Lucille crawls the short distance over the bed towards him, gently taking away his hands to expect the injury. A part from a quickly swelling bump; it's nothing too serious.

Lucille managed to giggle her way through a fresh bout of tears: Was _this _the reason? Was he even being serious?

He thought she was _sleeping _with _other men!_

Oh lord he was _too_ good.

Lucille would have never have thought- Well, maybe, perhaps, one day. - But that was not the point.

_-On my period! I was on my__** period**__and he thinks I'm either bleeding to death or preparing to shag someone? The nerve!- _

With a slightly mad giggle Lucille softly patted the leathery dome; talk about miscommunication!

"Francoeur, I think you have it completely at the wrong end." Francoeur blinks at this, his big eyes wide and confused."What-"- "Do you know…anything about human reproduction, Francoeur?" She has to ask this quickly and carefully, Lucille feels like she is high on adrenaline; if she stops, she'll fall down from pure exhaustion and won't ever have the courage or the anger to say this ever again.

"No."Well that's to the point.

"So why were you, _thinking_ that I was…with another-"-"Don't human's mate after they feed?" Lucille splutters for the right words', having no doubt that her face was the color of a well boiled lobster; this was a conversation she hadn't planned on having until she was forty!

With children!

And having 'The Talk' with said children, it could be awkward, it could be very embarrassing; having it with an adult, anthropomorphic flea-_man_, this was going borderline _insane_!

"Oh Francoeur…-"She _really_ didn't want to have this conversation _now._ Not when she was angry and happy and soaring with love that he was _back_. Not while all she wanted to do was strangle him, hug him, hit him, _kiss him_-"…Human's don't, do **it**__like that, when a woman reaches puberty, there is a time each month where they bleed a little because the egg that was released hasn't been fertilized, it's all part of the menstrual cycle, and it tells a young girl she is ready have children-"Why_? Why? Why? WHY?-_"Of course there is a lot more science and biology to it, but that's the summary of it… Human's don't reproduce by only feeding…"-"But, you _do_ turn more fertile, and you _do_ mate…right?" Lucille tried to keep the frustration from showing on her face. "In short: yes."

There was a twitch on his lips as he looked down, gently taking her hands and rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

"I…-"-_twitch twitch-"_Understand…and you were…"-"On my _period; yes_, it's part of the cycle, we bleed to exclude the unfertilized egg…maybe you smelt it and…"-"…And, when this _bleeding_ stops, is there a phase or moment when…you are able to…to…to…"-"Mate…?...well, yes, of course it doesn't happen all on its own, if. For example, I wanted to have a baby, I would need to, _mate,_ with a man, and if we are, compatible, I'll be with child…" - She stopped short of telling him more, the agonized expression on his face had returned.

"Is there anything more you…wanted to know?" Francoeur shook his head, he didn't say anything as he stood up from the bed, didn't say anything when he walked towards the window, and didn't say goodbye when he stepped onto the ledge, preparing to jump.

Preparing to _leave_, again.

"STOP!" Francoeur's foot slipped, but he grabbed a hold of the frame before he could fall. Looking over his shoulder, Francoeur found Lucille reaching out to him. Tears were falling again.

"Why?"- She said, her voice was slightly harsh, strained like she had been screaming. Francoeur turned his body towards her, but didn't step away from the window.

"'Why' what?" Uncharacteristically cold, he held his breath to keep from crying out: _Because you want me not_.

"Why, did you leave me?" Lucille didn't sob, she held strong in the face of her lover, she kept the terror off her face while she willed herself to speak, less she would loss the chance to ask him, why he had left the one person who would care for him, more than herself or life. How could he?

"What did **I** do?**"**She stressed the 'I', she had to know. "You told me you left; because you smelt **my** blood, but why didn't you _come back_? Tell me…" Lucille was losing her nerve, the tears were blurring her sight, and she blinked excessively to keep him focused.

"Please, tell me…tell me why."

Francoeur opened his mouth to answer, but the fear of knowing he was right; knowing she didn't want to belong with him. It stopped him dead in his tracks before he would even raise his legs to walk.

"Tell me…please, Francoeur…"

He didn't, he didn't, and he didn't want _affirmation!_ He closed his eyes, pretended it wasn't Lucille, pretended this was just a nightmare, _pretended he didn't want to lose her because he would surely die from the pain it would cause-_

"TELL, ME!"

"I left because of the blood, but I stayed away because I thought you .were with another man!" The shout had left both breathless, Lucille gazed at him with unshed tears, terrified that he would leave, _scared_ that he would stay.

Francoeur didn't stop there.

"Every night, every day, _every damned minute_ I knew you would reject me because I am not human, I was just a creature, a **pet** that could do tricks, every day I saw that man walk you around, like how I used to walk with you, every day I felt like ending my life because seeing you, talking with another man, being touched by another was making me wish I was dead, I nearly went looking for that policeman who wanted me dead, to confront him and dare him to kill me, because seeing you, not being with you is worse than being hunted down, worse than being taken apart bit by bit, because this"-he waved a hand out to her, Lucille flinched back like she was slapped across the face, it didn't matter that they were 10 feet apart; she could _feel_ it.

"This _torture_ won't **end**_**. **_" He opened his eyes; the red _blazed_.

"The night I smelt your blood was the night I _longed_ for you, longed to taste you, longed to touch you, **longed** to take you. Take you and run. Shower upon you the touches a man gives when he knows that you are the only one." The red eyes turned blurry, pools of salty water were gathering. "But I am no **man** and that fact kills me…I want _you, Lucille-"_The way he said her name, caressed it with his tongue made her shiver like it was a physical touch.

"…And I can't have you…"

Francoeur was crying now, the red had blazed over his eyes and now there was no trace of that gentle, soothing gold she knew and loved. He took a rattling breath, shaking like some cold wind had stolen the very warmth from him.

"…Because I- "He moved, stepped closer to her. "- Am"- His eyes were watching her. "- Not-"He was so _close-_

"-A _**man**_**...**_"_

For one moment, one last tender second, he was like a strange, otherworldly angel.

A mighty creature untouchable and undefeated and with no fear. And she was all that mattered to him.

He brushed away her tears, traced the corner of her lips, and then turned.

Lucille would look back and remember this. The sight of his back, seeing him walk away, the memory of those red eyes, cold and cruel but loving her.

The sight of his back would scare her more than death.

With a lurch and strength Lucille didn't know she had, she leaped at him and threw her arms around his waist, clinging to him like a lifeline.

The force didn't knock his off balance, but her gesture did. Francoeur gasped, the feeling of her, _so close._

It made the hot and cold in his heart mingle, each fighting to be recognized._ Leave, leave now or it will hurt __**more**__-_' A part of him said, a little sane part of him, and it gave him what little strength he had left to raise his hand to tug at Lucille's hold.

"…let me g-go…" Francoeur's voice however, it wavered.

"No."

"…just, allow me, to go…" his words didn't act up with his actions, for his hands closed around her forearms, like if it wasn't for her holding him down he would break apart.

"P-please, Lucille…"- Openly crying, Francoeur tore at her arms like doing so tore at his heart; she didn't let go.

"Please…Lucille, let me go… "-"I'm _not_. Going to." Her voice was muffed in the fabric of his shirt.

They clung like that for what seemed ages; eventually Francoeur lost his inner battle and fell down to his knees, bringing Lucille with him. It was how they were now, Lucille still had her arms wrapped around Francoeur's torso, while he was pleading her to let go. Simultaneously he didn't allow it.

Lucille was tired, but she didn't want him running off. Until she was certain he wasn't going anywhere; she wouldn't ease trying to stop him.

"L-let go…let me...let me go…please…" His voice was just a harsh whisper now, and his hands were gently holding hers, not pulling, not tugging. Just gently holding them, maybe, he didn't need to leave. Maybe he could stay – he was so tired- maybe he didn't need to, to, - what was it again?-

"Francoeur…tell me, why did you assume, "-"That you wouldn't want me around?"-"Oui…"

"…Simple, you're human, I'm not a human, and it seemed obvious you would want to be with another _human._ " It seemed unreal how he could converse with her, while they were still pleading with each other. – About what, exactly?-

"…I want to ask you something…but you have to promise me you're not leaving. At least not yet, please." Too tired to refuse, Francoeur nodded with a mumbled yes. Allowing her to stand and approach the window, firmly closing them and locking them in place.

When Lucille turned back to face him, he was getting to his feet with the grace of an old man. Taking firm hold of his hand Lucille dragged him back into the bed, setting him on the edge and making him lean his back against the headboard.

Sitting next to him she grasped the fabric of his shirt and reached out to his face with the other.

His face was slightly damp from the tears, and his eyes still glowed that ghastly red.

Gently Lucille wiped the remainder of the tears from his cheeks and eyes, keeping eye contact so she wouldn't lose him.

"So, you think I would want a partner who is human." He nodded his eyes sleepy.

"And why would you think that?" –"Because you'd be 'compatible'." She silently cursed, having her words thrown back like that. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.

"And you felt that, even though you're my friend, you couldn't be with me? You think that I don't want you to be with me, even though I'm human?"

Francoeur sat up a little straighter, the way she said this; as if there was something wrong with _her._

"And you believe, just because you're not human, you're not a man?" Before he could affirm her, she slapped him right across the face. Startled Francoeur raised a hand to the mark, gazing at her with confusion in his bloody eyes.

"You're ten times the man in comparison to every bastard in this city, Francoeur, and don't you dare contradict it."

"Wha-?"-"Don't be foolish, _you're not human_? _Be glad_ that you're not. All humans have ever done is kill, steal and murder, every act more twisted and sick than the last. You're a **man**, because you are above it all."

She grasped his face in her hands, holding his still while she looked him straight into his blood red eyes; she could see a little gold there, just a smidge, but it was there. Like finding light at the end of a particular dark tunnel, it shone.

"But even so…You…wouldn't…"-"Wouldn't **what?**"- But Francoeur just shook his head, dropping her hands Lucille tried to understand, tried to hear what he didn't say. Tried to know what he wasn't telling her.

Francoeur himself seemed distracted, with her so close; it was very hard _not_ to think of how he felt about her. Every day, every night, and every minute she had been on his mind. Looking down between them, he found his hand upon hers, an unconscious act of his feelings, not powered by will of thought, but more like his body knew what it wanted, what it _needed._

A little lost in thought, Francoeur voiced his meanderings:

"I have been thinking of you for so long…I can't help it, you're the first thing I see in the morning and the last before the night…" Strangely, a small smile curved his lips, Francoeur carried on un-aware. "There is a feeling, every time, without fail, that arises when you are near…"

Francoeur was completely in trance, nothing but the sound of his breathing and that of Lucille – was she listening? Was she still there?- The name soared through his mind and caused a familiar reaction to his thoughts, images of the couples on the street, the rose-red patch on her cheeks, the sweet breathe of her against his mandibles when he would bow down to meet her eye…

"Couldn't name it, but it seems like my heart"- he placed a lone hand to his chest, and pretended to feel it beating through the tough shell, and yet he felt it beat in numerous places in his body, fluttering in the presence of his love."-knows when you are near, and it sings, it sings your name."

His eyes lift briefly to look into hers; they were hazel. Such a strange color, never brown, never green, never gold. Something completely unique, and so very Lucille. As Francoeur keeps looking, the feeling swells and swells and _swells! _

"_What does it mean, the way I feel towards you, when I know you won't return it, and I can't seem to care that you never will?"_

Francoeur feels light; there is lightness in his head. It continues to affect him the more he looks at Lucille, but his eyes droop, and land on her mouth. Such a beautiful mouth she has, it was always fascinating to watch her speak, to hear her sing, to watch as the corners turned up and made her face light up and her eyes sparkle.

In his lightheaded-ness, Francoeur leaned forward. Those lips, they had a pretty color too; not exactly pink, nor red, more a very light saffron, with just a hint of pink on the bottom lip. And so full, so soft-looking. Francoeur wondered how they would feel.

Francoeur bowed his head down, closed his eyes and pressed his mouth to hers.

_So soft~'_


	6. Chapter 6

So close, being so near. It was peace, it was safe, and it was perfect.

The _sensations!_

A thousand colors, they flew and soared, exploded behind his eyelids, every color so bright and warm and welcome. One light was the brightest, a_ star._

Lucille.

Francoeur didn't want this moment to stop, the feel of her soft lips, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body, so close, so near.

The velvet of her lips, so gentle, so soft on his own. So perfect as he pressed further; just a little deeper, just a little longer. Trying to expand the moment, trying to make it last.

But it had to end…

Francoeur was sure this wasn't supposed to happen; this wasn't what he was meant for. So close…and yet so far.

_She'll never want to, not __this__, not __**me**__-_ The wet things – _tears-_ they were slowly dripping down the corners of his eyes, Francoeur pressed just a little deeper – _please, please, please let me have this, I'll ask for nothing else, just let me…let me…-_ a little harder, just to taste her, so he can remember her. And she made a sound, a small yet nice sound.

Her hands, suddenly, they are cradle his face, the pads of her fingers tracing away the tears, nails tickling over the freckles, and then-they scratch delightfully around the two spikes on the side of his head, causing a _trill!-The sensation is so hot, like boiled water racing through his veins, it awakes something primal in his blood, and of course the blood he had consumed only adds to the want and the longing and__** lust-**_

It takes all of his will power just to sit still, to keep his hands trapped between them, to stop himself from leaning forward and pressing Lucille into the soft mattress, to pin her and hold her down. To feel her soft body pressed tight against his own, feel her skin and taste it- He is so consumed with the feeling he forgets to breath.

She doesn't stop her scratching, the longer she draws her nails over those two sensitive bumps the **harder** it gets to hold himself back, he can feel something happening to his body, like it has a mind of its own it starts to tremble and raise his hands to cup both her waist and head, pulling her _closer-_

But he has to stay focused, for if it wasn't for his mind stopping him, he feared he might take her.

'_This has to stop, this can't go on, I need to stop-I need-need, I-I __**need**__ her.' _

Francoeur pulls back, their lips make the tiniest noise as they part – _smack_- the world spins!

"Oh…." His head hurts, too light, too much. His chest, _it hurts_! He tries to breathe, tries to gasp, but there's something in his throat. Painfully he swallows the lump, and air rushes into his lunges. Grateful he keeps gasping, only aware of the fact that he's sobbing when he hears his own voice, it sounded like something being ripped apart. The sobs continue to wrack his body, so that's what was shaking him.

"O-oh." The sobbing doesn't stop, and for a moment Francoeur feels so lonely. He feels like he is completely and utterly alone. In the darkness the sudden warmth is sucked away , down a abyss of lost souls, drifting, drowning, dying and yet remaining conscience so that his nightmares continue to plague and taunt him in his solitude.

So utterly alone.

But he isn't.

Lucille is reaching out, her warm hands cradle his face, and her eyes are wide and beautiful and sad.

The rose patch in her cheeks has returned, but he's too enveloped in pain that he can't even appreciate the beauty of seeing it there.

One of his favorite things and it can't help him.

The sadness of this fact makes him cry even harder, and he's clutching Lucille to his chest before he knows it, whimpering nothings and pleadings as he cries.

"_Please…please, let me stay, please just let me, let me…don't make me leave, don't hate-don't hate me, please Lucille, please, please, don't make me leave…"_ Not knowing that his whimsical pleas are being spoken out loud, Francoeur keeps a string of apologies, fears, regrets, most of all concerning her.

Lucille felt like she was breaking.

It was too strange, too open. Too heartbroken.

She held Francoeur's face as he cried, the odd, exhilarating sensation of the kiss is still making something _zing_ in her veins, but seeing him so _sad. _

After all that confusion and happiness and anger and uplifting?

It really made her wish she could just slap him upside the head for being so confusing.

''Francoeur…oh mon ame, mon coeur…I can never hate you for what you are, please look at me Francoeur, please, dry your tears…'' Francoeur loosens his hold on her, only enough for her to lean back and pat at his eyes with the edge of her sleeve; the tears stinging and blurring his vision, turning Lucille's appearance into a prism of rainbow lights, a angel for sure, unlike anything he had seen before. Like nothing before.

'' I'm s-so so, sorree-hic- sorry Lucille…'' In between sobs he still tried to apologize, tripping over the tears and nearly blubbering like a child. Lucille shushes him with little coos, wrapping her arms around his head, feeling him shift their positions until he was cradled against her chest, sobbing into her sleep-rumbled and tear-soaked dress.

'' It's alright, it's alright, I forgive you mon coeur…oh Francoeur, how could you even begin to think that I don't want you near…'' She tightens her hold, feeling like she was at a loss, what could she do to make him stop this? What could she say? A million things raced through her mind at the implication, tell him you want him to stay, tell him you need him, tell him you love him!

"Oh!" A startled gasp clenches her chest along with her heart; what a moment to come to such confessions.

"…Francoeur…do you know what, love is…?" He stopped sobbing, only a little, pulling back from her embrace to look at her, and even then his eyes trailed down to a spot above her left shoulder, his expression bordering on bafflement.

"…I, I am not familiar with this…word, but. I think I would, um, recognize it…it's something from the books, isn't it?" He ached a brow ridge in question, his mouth twisting into a little frown. – _what kind of question was that? It made no sense-_.

"Well…maybe if I told you'-" Suddenly very nervous, Lucille licks her dry lips and folds her hands in her lap, trying to keep from fumbling and search for the best way to explain the complicated concept to a 7 ft flea. Really, and she thought it was hard when he asked how humans mated!

"Love is…well, L'amour is, something you share…with somebody very close to you, sometimes you can't help but care for this person or think about them on regular basis, longing to be beside them, wanting them to be happy, feeling sad when they are sad…and, it's something that many people can share, to an extent."

She waved a hand non-commentary, trying to hide from what her eyes saw ; He is a person like that. Francoeur is somebody she cares about, and somebody she wished she could tell all of this.

"Actually…"- Lucille's mouth closed with a snap, he had never interrupted her. Never had the reason to either. He was looking at their clasped hands with such concentration, she could practically see the gears in his mind turning, searching, finding the right words.

"...I think, I might have…Lucille, is 'love', this L'amour, is it…might it be the same…as the way I feel towards…you, Lucille?" After this he looked up at her, his eyes aglow with something more than his recent feeding.

"Am I…Is it 'Love', that I have, for you, Lucille?" He leaned just a little, moving forward to peck her on the mouth yet again, this time though he did it gentler, nipping softly and pulling back to stare at her. "Is this, this feeling, do you …return it…? To an extent, at least?"

And all she could do was stare, he had grown so much, learned so much and become so much more. How was it even possible for him to be this way?

Whatever the cause, the most important thing now was to speak, to open her mouth and say something!

Swallowing a dry lump Lucille grasped his face in her hands again, looking hard at him, trying to communicate her utmost sincerity and devotion.

She wanted to be perfectly sure that this was what she wanted, that he knew what she wanted.

If he felt this way towards her, his angel, his light…what stopped her from feeling the same for him?


End file.
